Not my kind of party

**Editor's Note: I found this entry hiding in my draft section today; therefore, it's dated by approximately two weeks. Oh well. No need to let a perfectly good post go to waste. 

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Let me tell you a little bit about my Saturday night.

5pm- Walk in the front door exhausted from a nine hours of running my butt off to serve coffees and food to all the jolly (and not so jolly) holiday shoppers. As my key hits the lock it hits me: tonight is the night our housemate John is planning his Christmas house party. Crap. In my time in the house so far, I've experienced two of his house parties, neither of which I was that crazy about. I am not looking forward to trying to mingle with a lot of strangers who frankly I could care less about. Plus Chris is working this evening so no moral support from that tried and true source. I sigh. Well it's only one night right? I can put up with anything for just one night, right?

5:02pm-After dropping my bag in my room, I head to the kitchen to grab an apple from the fridge. As I pass the bathroom door, I see aforementioned housemate filling the tub with bag after bag of ice to chill the hundreds of beer bottles already resting in all it's porcelain glory. This is the same bathtub connected to the house shower. Yes, singular, shower. The shower that I was planning to climb into in less than five minutes. I close my eyes, count to ten, and remind myself to set the alarm for half an hour earlier to allow for shower time in the morning. This party is already getting on my nerves.

7pm- After eating a light supper, washing my face, and brushing my teeth, I climb into my pajamas (yes, I'm that tired) and decide to keep to myself in the safety of my room for the duration of the party. After turning on my festive Christmas lights, putting on a little music, and lighting the candles in the fireplace, I curl up on the little love seat couch occupying the far corner of my room with my newly purchased British Vogue with a cup of herbal tea. I repeat the following mantra over and over in my head: 'I will not let a group of unruly strangers ruin my night. I will not let a group of unruly strangers ruin my night...' During my third recital, I hear voices in the front garden...'I will not...'then feet tripping across the porch..'let a group..'excited pounding on the front door...'of unruly strangers'...followed by John's voice-HEY GUYS! JUST WAIT TILL YOU SEE THE TUB! And so it begins.

9:30pm-A couple hours into the party, and I'm already over it. I abandoned my Vogue after 20minutes as the pounding of the music and the obnoxious sounds of drinking rang in my ears. I decide to watch a movie. I slide 'Road to Perdition' into my laptop and place a pair of earphones over my grateful ears. Success. A whole two hours pass in the escapism of cinema without interruption. Unfortunately, it's now bedtime. I tentatively pull one earphone from my ear...DRINK DRINK DRINK choruses from the living room. This is going to be a long night.

11:30pm- I resolutely set my alarm, grab my ipod, and begin to climb into bed. Suddenly the door is kicked open and I stare with shock and aggravation at the 6 eyes staring back at me. Two of the intruders retreat amidst a fit of the giggles. The third at least has the decency to semi-coherently give a type of explanation, "Sorry...were playing a hunting game...didn't know anyone was in here...gotta go." Gee, thanks for that eloquent apology. Setting the volume as close as I possibly dare to maximum without incurring permanent damage on my ear drums I jump into bed with John Mayer and try and call it a night.

2am- 'Wow. I must have finally dozed off.' This is the thought that springs to my mind as I am awoken when the door opens for the second time of the night. A split second later light floods the room as the switch clicks. I don't even pause to see who it is-I politely tell the couple at the door (whom I can only imagine is looking for an empty room to gainfully employ) to get the hell out of my room. I toss and turn for the next hour willing myself to sleep.

3am-Chris pops in after he finishes work to check on me before joining the festivities. I try to refrain from any behavior that might be construed as 'uppity.' I'm not sure I succeeded. The party is on...someone might as well enjoy it. Plus, how much longer can such shenanigans persist?

4am-To answer my previous question, longer than you would expect.

6am-I hear the last of the revelers either escape through the front door or make do with a few hours sleep on our couch. Finally, a little rest for the weary.

7:10am-alarm sounds. i refrain from beating it to a little pulp. After all, the party wasn't my poor dejected cell phone's fault. I sleepily grab my towel and head for the bathroom. On autopilot I lock myself in, turn on the faucet, remove my pyjamas, and proceed to step into ice cold water. My mind foggily tries to translate precisely how bottles of beer made it into my morning cleaning ritual. Then it comes back to me-that.....blasted......party. Bah Humbug.